


Damnit, if it isn't good to be Draco Malfoy...

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, Birthday Sex, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24557527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: Draco is turning-- well, Draco isn't saying how old he's turning. And he's certainly not celebrating it... but his wife has other plans.
Relationships: Hermione Granger / Draco Malfoy
Comments: 32
Kudos: 445
Collections: Happy Birthday Mr. Malfoy





	Damnit, if it isn't good to be Draco Malfoy...

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd and just some silliness for the birthday boy!

“Draco?” 

His lip curled upon hearing the sound of his wife’s voice in the hall and he refilled his glass quietly, remaining firmly hidden in the shadows. Normally, he’d love any opportunity for others to fawn over him and lavish him with expensive gifts. 

Christmas?  _ Lovely.  _

Anniversary?  _ Brilliant.  _

But not tonight and  _ certainly _ not by surprise. 

Upon walking into his beautiful home and being greeted by his beautiful wife, he was appalled to find a den full of people waiting to accost him for the audacity of turning— well, he still was ignoring how many years old he was turning. 

And so, staring down two dozen guests, Draco scowled, cast  _ Nox _ on the entire affair, and turned on his heel to retreat to his study. 

Which is where he was seated with a decanter of Ogdens and a sour attitude. 

The door creaked open, a sliver of light inching across the floor until it reached his desk. “Love, are you in here?”

“How dare you?” he hissed into the darkness. 

“Oh, come off it!” Hermione strode in, flicking her wand at the wall sconces and closing the door. “You’re acting like I’ve—” 

“Explicitly ignored my desperate pleas to ignore this godforsaken day?”

Rolling her eyes, she sashayed across the room and perched her bum on the edge of his desk. “Draco, it’s not the worst thing in the world to celebrate your birthday.” 

“Yes, it is, especially when you’re ancient.” 

She swatted at him, her lips curling in a smile she didn’t want to give away. “I’m older than you, you git.” 

“Then you should know the feeling.” He wanted to wear his anger like armor, a shield against the happiness waiting outside the door, because who in their right mind would want to celebrate being—  _ no. _ He refused to say it.

“What is it about this day that is so abhorrent to you? You’ve a house full of people who want to celebrate you, adorable children who spent the better of a week making decorations, your favorite double dark chocolate two-tiered cake—” 

At that his eyes flickered up, the people and decorations (children notwithstanding) he could do without… but the cake…

“I don’t want to be—” he choked on a whisper, “ _ forty _ .” 

“Why on earth not? Forty is sexy. I love your grey—” 

Draco growled and sank deeper into his chair. “I. Am. Not. Grey. This is Malfoy blond— a genetic miracle.” From beyond the door, Draco could hear the ambient sounds of merriment and finished the rest of his drink in a single gulp. “Sorry, Granger. I’m not going out there. I couldn’t possibly feign interest in this tragic day no matter the circumstances.” 

A few beats of silence wore on and then his wife shifted, her fingers curling around the edge of the desk. “What if I give you your birthday present early?”

His ears perked up but then he made a face. “You’re rubbish at gifts. Last year I got a coupon for a hug.” 

“That isn’t true! That was from the kids!” 

_ “Still…”  _

Huffing, Hermione stood tall, pulling on a tie around the middle of her simple black dress until the fabric fell away. Draco’s mouth ran dry as she shrugged free of the garment and stood what could only be his birthday present.

His wife’s body had changed from her youth but only in the best ways, there was more of her hips and breasts, thicker flesh for him to sink his fingers into but the delicate curve of her waist still dipped just  _ so _ . She was wearing emerald green lace, her breasts supported and cupped into a generous display of cleavage. Around her waist was a thin strip of elastic that attached to a sheer thigh high stockings. The strip of fabric between her thighs couldn’t be considered knickers but sure enough, that was all that was there. 

A crooked smile twisted his lips as he brushed a finger against her knee cap and slid it higher until he could reach around and palm her arse. “Granger… Granger… Granger… What is this?”

“A birthday present you’re not meant to unwrap until your guests have left.” 

With an appreciative noise, Draco steepled his fingers over his lips and sat back in his chair, appreciating the view. “So what? We have sex and then I have to endure the party?”

“The word you’re looking for is  _ enjoy _ . You  _ enjoy _ the party and stop scowling at everyone.” 

“You must be confident in your sexual prowess, wife. We just had sex this morning, who says I even  _ want _ sex.” 

She scoffed as she moved over him, bracketing her thighs around his as she sank onto his lap. With a single roll of her hips, his bluff had been sussed out. “You’re already half hard in your trunks, Malfoy. You going to do something about it?” 

The options were simple: enjoy the feast of the goddess in his lap and endure— not enjoy— an evening of well-meaning idiots, charming children, and cake  _ or _ sit alone, drunk, knowing what his wife was wearing under her dress while her lecherous co-workers prowled around her. 

Begrudgingly, he chose the former and gripped the flesh at her hips, rocking her once onto his stiffening length. “You know how I hate to turn down a present.” 

She giggled as she locked her arms around his neck and pulled him forward. Dipping his head down, he buried his face in her breasts, kissing and nipping at the soft swell of flesh while she rolled her hips on his lap. It didn’t matter how many years he spent memorizing her body, each new curve, each silvery stretch mark, and freckle was just as achingly beautiful as when he’d touched her the very first time. 

The memory of when they’d first fumbled through their first intimate encounter was seared into his memory and he smiled as he replayed it now, the timidness of her touch and the reckless hurry in his. 

Now at forty, he had the gift of experience. He knew his wife better than he knew anything else in the world, knew if he was looking for a night of passion to avoid the crook of her knee because she’d always laugh. He definitely knew not to bring up the one disastrous time they were caught in a party with his trousers around his ankles and her skirt rucked up because she’d become so embarrassed she wouldn’t be in the mood. He knew that she  _ purred _ when he had stubble on his jaw and that special spot at the juncture of her neck and shoulder that made her keen. 

And still over twenty years later, he was in disbelief that she was his. 

Sliding his hand up the curve of her spine, he buried his hands in the loose curls at the base of her skull, tugging her hair back and exposing the long lean column of her throat. She gasped, back arching. 

“What all does this birthday gift include, my love?”

She smiled, neck still craned and her fingers threaded into his hair, pulling him back into her breasts. “Who am I to deny the birthday boy?” 

A growl rumbled free from his chest and his hands fell away from her only to grope at her breasts, alternating between massaging and running feather-light touches over the lace while his tongue danced up the valley of her tits. 

He moaned appreciatively, yanking the cups down and dragging a flat tongue over her pebbled nipple. “Where the fuck did you get this bra? I’ve never seen it before.” 

“You don’t want to know,” she confessed with a giggle. 

“Tell me. I want to buy you a hundred more.” 

Laughter spilled from her lips as she continued bucking against his lap. “Pansy had it sent over from her new collection. 

Draco groaned in annoyance but swiftly picked her up and turned her so her hands were flat on the desk. With his knee, he nudged her thighs and made quick work of his zipper. He shredded her knickers, tossing them haphazardly under his desk and then slotting himself at her entrance, teasing her slit with his swollen cock. 

He rolled a nipple between his fingers and then guided his palm over the curve of her throat, flexing his fingers just slightly. “Tonight, I want to fuck those tits and then here—” He dipped a single finger between her lips and she took it greedily, moaning as she pulled it deeper in her mouth. “But since you’ve seen fit to fill my house with strangers—” 

She released him with a  _ pop _ . “Guests, Draco. They are guests.” 

Snapping his hips forward, they shared in a broken breath, his free hand shooting to the curve between her shoulder blades just as her knees buckled and her hips slammed into the desk. “I’ll have to settle for this for now. Mores the pity.” 

_ “Fuck _ …” Merlin, when the witch cursed with him buried inside her it did sinful things to his stamina. She rotated her hips before arching her lower back, allowing him to sink just a little deeper. “Fuck me, Draco.” 

Biting into his lip, he took a single moment to appreciate the sight before him. His wife, trussed up in satin and lace and straps,  _ just for him. _

Then, like the snapping of a cord, the moment broke and he railed into her, fucking her until the desk was sliding across the floor and he had to mutter a sticking charm just to get it to stop. She made the most beautiful noises, fingers trying in vain to find purchase in the top of his desk, instead reaching out to curl around the far edge as he drove relentlessly into her. 

“Come for me, my love,” he ground out, hand slipping between her thighs and toying with her clit. The flutter of her cunt as she came was enough to send him careening over the edge as well, his hips stilling and then slamming into her once more as he spent inside her. “That’s my girl. Fuck, I love you.” 

He collapsed over her back, breathless as he trailed kisses over her shoulders and down her spine. She turned her head just barely and he moved to kiss her on the lips, nipping and tasting and worshiping her the way she deserved. “I love you too, Draco. Happy Birthday.” 

They dressed, Hermione sans knickers because Draco wouldn’t allow it on  _ his _ birthday, which he now sought fit to claim as a national holiday, and they made their way back into the party. 

At the fringe of the crowd was a grinning Harry Potter, tipping his glass. “There he is! Knew you’d come around! Happy fortieth, mate!” 

Draco paused midstep, lip curling. “I’m thirty-nine until eleven-forty-five, Potter.” 

But, as if on cue to chase his grumpiness away, Scorpius and Lyra burst through the crowd and wrapped their small arms around his middle, rushing out birthday greetings and claiming the decorations faster than he could listen. And then Hermione was there, curling into his side and kissing his cheekbone. 

And despite the age, the hour, and the horrible party guests, damnit, if it wasn’t good to be Draco Malfoy. 

  
  
  



End file.
